The Cleansers
by AdrianPetersonFan113
Summary: A small band of sell swords are looking for work in the Imperial City tracking down the rouge creature that attacked it a week earlier. Ties in with other stories. R


I, Jerry, don't own anything that Bethesda does. Characters, titles, etc. I mean, seriously, if I did, would I be typing on a computer that takes three hours to download Mario Frustration off of Youtube?

All right guys, all three of you, I want you to tell me if you think this way reads better then all the other stories, not counting The Story So Far. This will be written in third person view, unlike most of the others. And, most importantly, how will I know if you like it or not, so review. Call me names. Call my writing names. Call my mother names. Call my plants names, just REVIEW!

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The orc looked at the bottom of his empty mug. It was filled with beer. Was. This was his, oh hell, he couldn't remember how many he had. And the reason for such merriment? Well, there wasn't any. Nobody was smiling. Nobody was having a good time. They drank to forget. The orc looked down the bar at his comrades. His second family, he called them. They were more of a family then his drunk father back home in Orsinium.

Dornium, the Dunmer. His second in command. Wore light chain mail, used a fiercely sharp dwarven claymore, and had a boatload of destruction college and restoration college spells. When he wasn't in combat, he was a reliable, outgoing, Dunmer, that many times didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He wore no helmet, for his outlandish Mohawk wouldn't permit such cover. His handsome young face had a scar on his right cheek going down to his lip, which he received in a bar brawl. He would have settled down, if it wasn't for that scar. Ladies were always flocking towards him, but now he was an orc to them. He actually preferred it that way. He wanted to do what he did.

Then there was Rain-Falls-Hard. A young, frisky Argonian who was an excellent hand to hand fighter and knew how to shoot a bow. The lizard donned enchanted leather armor that allowed him much greater speed. He was a mercenary down in Black Marsh for a couple of years. He learned how to camouflage, hide, and set a trap. He didn't, however, learn savageness, so he was let go as a mercenary. He was a young, green scaled, jumpy Argonian, who you either liked or hated. He had his moments, everybody had to give him that.

Next was the team's weapon specialist, Danyule. He was a Redguard, born and raised in Chorrol. He was raised in the chapel of Zennithar, and taught to defend himself by his father, the late husband of Rasheda, the town's armorer. Though Danyule didn't know who his real mother was. He and Rasheda hated each other. When his father died of Bloodlung, Danyule moved out, looking for a job where he could use his incredible skills with blades, hammers, maces, and axes. He was pious, proper, and proud of it. Though, when in battle, he becomes a demon. In battle he donned any weapon he felt like, and wore an orcish cuirass with an ebon helmet, and everything else was dwarven.

Then was an Imperial thief smooth talker, named Erasmitius. He was an excellent shot with a bow; better then Rain-Falls-Hard, and was so quiet when he wanted to be, foxes and weasels had nothing on him. He only knew how to cast a spell allowing him to see in the dark. He was quiet, socially awkward, and fidgety most of the time. He always wore his elven bow and his quiver full of enchanted arrows.

Jordren was next, an Altmer, but he wasn't there. He was out running an errand for the team. He was a friendly Altmer, who could take a few hits, verbally, not physically. He was tough on the inside, but his physique wasn't anything to shake a stick at, but his magic was almost unheard of. He was an expert in each college one had ever heard of. All thanks to fifty years in the Mage's Guild. He was banned for going outside of protocol. What he did, nobody but he and anyone else who was there knew.

Then, then, then there was Hippertia. The female Imperial. She wasn't coming back, everyone knew. Once you went where she went, you could just forget it. Everyone was greatly disappointed. The orc, Jan Gro-Grysnier, blamed himself for what happened to her, though the team tried to share the blame. Gro-Grysnier had pushed her to far, he knew. He pushed her too far, and she paid the price. What happened? Tragedy. Where was she? In the head, throwing up. They had a bet, fifty septims each that she could take five Drowning Argonians, a liquor so strong, it was said even Renyald Jemane of Chorrol couldn't have more then two. Now the damned bartender would get 300 septims.

They stayed at the Wawnett in, just outside of the Imperial City. They were a group of adventurers and sell swords that were mostly free lance, but they would take the occasional job.

The Cleansers, the group's name, had moved their HQ to the Wawnett Inn when they heard what happened to the Imperial City. A giant black beast with tentacles had attacked the city a week ago. It wiped out more then half of the guard in under seven minutes! Now there was a bounty on the beast's head. 1,000,000 septims, and a 100 acre land grant including a castle and a small village by Cheydinhal. The Cleansers had deeper then usual pockets; they had just got done doing a major deal for King Helseth of Mournhold. Let's just say that five different crime bosses won't be heard of again.

"Anybody need refills?" the innkeeper, Nurrissa, asked, coming back up from downstairs where her room was. She had just put her money away in her safe, and now was grinning ear to ear. Dornium raised his hand, not meeting eyes with her. She refilled his mug, still smiling. Dornium gave her a smart ass fake smile back, and took a drink.

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I gave her counterfeit septims." Danyule lied. For being a good man, he was just as good a lire. He looked at her and gave her a crooked smile. "No you didn't." Dornium pointed out. Danyule threw his hands up in disgust.

"Don't worry, I know my counterfeit septims when I see them. How many skooma suckers do you think I get coming through here?" Nurrissa asked, still smiling. She could tell everyone was pissed. This wasn't the way she wanted it to be. She didn't want them moving somewhere else.

Nurrissa sat down and thought. After a while she swallowed her pride. "Have you guys ever heard of 'Shadowbanish Wine'?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm sorry?" Jan Gro-Grysnier asked, giving her the are-you-crazy-look.

"Shadowbanish wine. A vintner alchemist invented it some hundred years ago." Nurrissa began to explain.

"What does it need? I could probably make you a batch." Rain-Falls-Hard offered. He was known for his poisons more then he was for his cures and potions, but a little practice never hurt, did it? Actually, yes, it does hurt. (Especially if you're in the marital arts.)

Nurrissa gave the lizard a sweet smile. "That's sweet, it really is, but all the necessary ingredients are long gone."

"I'm pretty good at improvising." Rain-Falls-Hard offered again. "Don't doubt him!" Dornium warned. "I've seen this dirty son of a bitch make a trap with three leaves and a twig." Dornium over exaggerated.

"Well, while I don't doubt your abilities, the authenticity wouldn't be there." Nurrissa explained further.

Gro-Grysnier raised one of his bushy, black eyebrows. "Are you offering us a job, Altmer?" he asked.

"Well," she thought a little "when it comes right down to it, yes, yes I am. Find me six bottles of Shadowbanish; more then anybody else in Tamriel has, and you'll get much more then 300 septims back!" she finished with a smile.

"What all do you know about them?" Dornium asked, truly intrigued.

"Well, I know that they were made in one, small batch and given to legion outposts to keep their sentries warm and allows them to see in the dark." she offered the information with more enthusiasm, now that she was pretty sure they would say yes.

"Wait, is this wine or whiskey?" Danyule asked. "Keeping people warm?"

"Well, that's just one of the perks that goes along with drinking the drink!" Nurrissa smiled.

"I'm sorry, but there's over forty different forts in Cyrodill alone. This is going to be this far away from impossible, without any information." Dornium said, motioning to the amount of beer left in his mug, which definitely wasn't much.

"There is a book at the shop known as the 'First Edition' in the Market District in the Imperial City. It's called 'Wines of the Years'. It tells you how to make wine, though you probably don't care for that. I have been told it has a detailed map telling you were many of the old vintners would deliver their brew." Nurrissa offered.

Jan Gro-Grysnier smiled at Dornium. "This one is your baby. What do you think?"

Dornium smiled, finished his beer, and said "I think Jordren is going to have to go back to the Imperial City when he gets back."


End file.
